


The Path of Most Resistance

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [23]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Beginnings, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Deception, Enemies, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Internment Camp 371 (Star Trek), Matchmaking, Mistaken Identity, Occupation of Bajor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 10:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16763779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Julian does his best to adjust to the harsh conditions of Internment camp 371 and convince his bunk mates that he's more useful alive than dead while Garak tries to adjust to a return to life outside of confinement and fulfill the obligation he made to attend the Bajoran conference on the occupation.





	The Path of Most Resistance

**Part I**  
_Garak  
Security Office_  
  
Garak waited patiently for Odo to finish the outtake form, everything in his possession from the holding cell residing in a small satchel with a shoulder strap. “I just need your thumb print here,” Odo said, offering him a PADD across the desk.  
  
Garak quickly scanned the text before pressing his thumb to the screen. “That's it, then?” he asked pleasantly.  
  
“Not quite,” Odo said. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with me to the Celestial Café.”  
  
“What for?” he asked, arching an eye ridge.  
  
“A surprise party,” the constable answered in his matter-of-fact way.  
  
“I hate surprises,” Garak said.  
  
“Now it's not a surprise,” Odo retorted, “so you have no excuse not to enjoy yourself.”  
  
“Aroya put you up to this?” he asked.  
  
Odo nodded. “Which is why you're going, and you're going to act completely surprised. Ziyal and Leeta also put a lot of time and effort into this. You can't disappoint the girls.”  
  
“The girls?” he asked, feeling his irritation melting away into amusement. He had a feeling there was quite a bit he had missed during his incarceration.  
  
Odo colored faintly. “Yes,” he said, sounding just a tad defensive. “They're waiting for us. It's not polite to keep them in suspense.”  
  
“By all means,” Garak said, gesturing expansively. “Lead the way.”  
  
He inhaled deeply as he stepped from the security office. It was different from all of the other times he stepped out for his trips to the infirmary. He had no reason to return unless he wished to, and he knew there was precious little that would ever induce him to do that again voluntarily. He climbed the steps to the second level of the Promenade in Odo's wake and noticed that the front of the café was dark. “I'm not supposed to find this odd?” he asked Odo.  
  
“Hush!” the constable warned him. “Come on.” He paused and pushed Garak in ahead of him.  
  
There was only a moment of darkness before the lights went up and several jubilant voices shouted, “Surprise!” He did his best to look taken aback, and not all of it was an act. In addition to those he expected to see were several of his customers, Jake Sisko, and Major Kira.  
  
Ziyal rushed forward to embrace him, followed closely by Leeta, Aroya, and Rom. He found himself in a confused jumble of limbs and a press of bodies that had it lasted much longer than it did might have caused him some problems. He gave them his best smile. “Am I in the wrong place?” he asked. “There seems to be a party going on.”  
  
“It's for you, Mister Garak!” a high voice piped from somewhere behind his friends.  
  
Leeta and Ziyal stepped to the side, Leeta taking his bag from him and setting it aside, so that he could see the girl to whom the voice belonged, Konil's daughter, Sheree. “Look at you,” he said, beckoning her closer. “How you've grown!” They grew so quickly at that age. He looked from her to her mother, who offered him a warm smile.  
  
“Her birthday is coming up next month. She'll need a new dress. Will you be re-opening the shop?” she asked.  
  
“I will,” he said, nodding.  
  
“I'm so glad!” the girl said, not nearly as little as the day he met her years before. She gave him a hug and retreated back to her family as others drew closer to congratulate him or ask him questions. He treated with all of them graciously, touched that they'd go to the trouble to make such a gesture but really just wanting the chance to get back to his quarters and reacquaint himself with them.  
  
“I suppose I won't be seeing as much of you now,” Julian said, his smile slightly wry.  
  
“I'll always have room in my schedule for our lunches, Doctor,” he replied, more than a little pleased that he could now refuse the hypospray injections. It wasn't likely he'd still need them once his body adjusted to the fact he was no longer a captive.  
  
Aroya put a glass in his hand then took up a tray and began circulating through the room. He did much the same, making certain to divide his time fairly. It may have been a long time since he found himself in such a situation. It didn't mean he had forgotten how to be a good, charming guest. Although everyone with whom he spoke was given the impression that each had his undivided attention, in truth he was watching interactions throughout the restaurant, the way Aroya brushed Odo's fingers when she gave him a glass, the way he smiled, Jake's laughter at something Ziyal said, Leeta's gaze following Rom, Kira's somewhat stiff posture and not quite convincing smiles. He made his way over to her and inclined his head. “Let me guess,” he said, leaning in close enough that the two of them wouldn't be overheard. “Ziyal persuaded you to come.”  
  
She looked as though she intended to deny this, then thought better of it. “Yes,” she said.  
  
“Come then,” he said, lightly taking her elbow and guiding her toward one of the set tables. “Let's get the dinner started so that you may eat and make your graceful exit. Everyone else will assume it's because of the baby, and I'll think no less of you for your unfortunate tendency toward honesty.”  
  
She tried not to smile and almost succeeded. “Thank you, Garak,” she said. She looked relieved when he pulled out a chair for her and pushed it gently under her as she took her seat. The other guests took the cue and found seats of their own. Ziyal sat to his right, across from Kira, and beamed at both of them.  
  
“Now, I can't take all the credit for the food tonight,” Aroya said. “Leeta shouldered a good bit of the prep work, and you can thank her entirely for the sauce.”  
  
“You mean blame,” Leeta piped up with a giggle.  
  
“Nonsense!” Aroya said, grinning. She and Mayna retreated into the kitchen and brought out trays heaped with food.  
  
After everyone was served, somebody Garak didn't quite see shouted out, “Speech! Speech!” Others took up the chant until Garak held up his hand and reluctantly stood.  
  
As he looked out over the smiling faces, the words came to him of their own accord. “My father used to say that you can judge a good meal by lack of conversation. I've had Aroya's cooking. Leeta's, too. I hope no one expects another word out of me until the meal is over, so if anyone needs to leave early, I'll thank you for coming now.” He retook his seat to polite, appreciative laughter.  
  
Just as he expected it would be, the food was delicious. There wasn't much in the way of conversation when people dug in. He met Leeta's gaze and gave her a pleased, closed lipped smile and incline of his head. Her cooking had come a long way in a relatively short amount of time. Eventually happy chatter grew in volume. He'd never say it to them, but after the quiet of his cell, he found it all a little overwhelming.  
  
Kira shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I think I'm going to have to head out,” she said, wincing. She looked further down the table to Aroya. “Would you mind if I borrowed the guest of honor for a few minutes?”  
  
“Not at all,” the woman replied, a look of concern crossing her features. “Would you like a box of dessert to go? It won't take me ten seconds to get it wrapped up for you.”  
  
“Send some with Ziyal, please,” she said, pushing to her feet. “This was a lovely party. I'm sorry to have to bow out so soon.”  
  
“We're just happy you could come,” Leeta said.  
  
Uncertain of what she wanted with him, Garak stood and offered an arm to her. She made a show of leaning on him until after they were well away from the small gathering of revelers. She straightened when the turbolift started downward. “You looked like you could use a break,” she said, glancing at him. He opened his mouth and shut it again, dismayed to have been so obvious. “Don't worry,” she added. “I don't think anyone who doesn't dislike parties as much as I do would've noticed.”  
  
“It's just a little much after...”  
  
“You don't have to explain,” she said. “I do hope you'll go back, though. Ziyal put so much work into the decorations and the guest list.”  
  
“I'm going back,” he assured her, “and I'll stay until the party winds down, however long that takes.”  
  
“You're good to her. I had my doubts at first, but you've gone a long way toward putting them to rest. I think her feelings are settling a little, too. She's trying, at least. I know you haven't done it for me. I wanted to thank you anyway. I think having a Cardassian in her life who doesn't judge her for who her mother was means a lot to her,” she said.  
  
“She's a joy to know,” he said simply. The turbolift stopped, and they both stepped off.  
  
“You don't have to walk me to the O'Briens',” she said.  
  
“I could use the time,” he said, falling into step with her. “How are you doing uniform wise? You're looking a little snug.”  
  
She frowned. “I am,” she said. “I'll bring them by this week. This is so insane. I feel as big as a house, and I keep asking Julian if he's positive I'm not carrying twins. This doesn't go beyond you, me, and the corridor, but I miss my toes.”  
  
“When are you due?” he asked.  
  
“A month,” she said, “maybe less. It's hard to be completely sure because I'm Bajoran, and Julian doesn't know what that will mean for going into labor.”  
  
“Well, just let me know what you need adjusted and when. Are the boots still holding up all right?”  
  
“The boots are wonderful. I don't know what you did to them, but it made all the difference. My back still hurts after a full day. I'll take hurting over agony any day of the week.” She stopped in front of the O'Briens' door. “This is me,” she said. “I'd invite you in, but...”  
  
“I wouldn't accept,” he said with the trace of a smile. “It would be awkward for you and Mrs. O'Brien, unpleasant for me and the chief, and confusing for Molly. Children that age are wonderful at picking up on awkwardness and terrible at interpreting it correctly.”  
  
“You're good with kids. I saw you at the party. Your customers' children genuinely like you. Ever thought of having any of your own?”  
  
“Have a good evening, Major. Thank you for coming to the party,” he said instead of answering, inclined his head, turned, and departed. He heard the door open and shut behind him, not needing to glance back to see that she had gone inside. He wondered how she was going to handle having to hand the baby over to the O'Briens. He had heard that such situations could get ugly for the surrogates. He didn't know from personal experience or anyone he knew well.  
  
By the time he returned to the party, people were circulating again. Aroya insisted he sit back down and enjoy his dessert. She sat with him, her gaze shifting over the revelers. “Tell me the truth,” she said, looking back to him, her blue eyes sparkling. “Were you really surprised?”  
  
“Completely,” he lied convincingly. “Odo told me that as a matter of protocol, he had to escort me to my quarters. He claimed to find the fact that the restaurant was dark strange and insisted I accompany him. You're all fortunate I wasn't wearing a phaser.”  
  
She laughed and squeezed his forearm. “I suppose we are!” He noticed Odo watching them and trying not to look as though he were. He smiled to himself and took a bite of the sugared fruits in sweet cream. “If that wasn't a self-satisfied smile, I don't know what is,” she continued. “What are you looking at?”  
  
“I think the constable wants your attention,” he said, inwardly gleeful.  
  
“Psh,” she snorted softly. “He gets enough of that. Tonight is your night. I suppose you're wanting to know if all your efforts have paid off?”  
  
“I would never be so crass as to ask for details,” he all but purred.  
  
“But if I offered them, you wouldn't turn your nose up, either,” she said, laughing again. She lowered her voice. “Our constable is an old fashioned sort. In a way, it makes me glad. I still miss my husband after all these years. Were we moving too quickly, I'd feel...awkward. He's a perfect gentleman and one of the kindest people I've ever met. You had good instincts on this one.”  
  
_I usually do,_ he thought. He found Ziyal and Jake in the crowd again and watched more closely. Nothing in the boy's body language spoke of anything untoward. He made a mental note to have a little talk with him later, anyway. With Dukat away, he was the next best thing, and somebody had to look out for her interests. Kira was too distracted with the pregnancy.  
  
Konil and his wife seemed happy. He was glad that the terrible incident at the Gratitude Festival a few years back hadn't damaged their marriage. Their boy was now a young teen and almost as tall as Garak already. He endured the party with the awkwardness that seemed almost universal to children that age. The adults of the family chatted pleasantly with some of his other customers, and the little girl was surrounded by other girls her age, charming and chatty.  
  
Rom took up most of Julian's time, seemingly oblivious to the looks Leeta shot him. Garak decided that he would have to be his next project. The interest was clearly there on both sides. Rom just needed the confidence to pursue it. “This is delicious, Aroya. You've outdone yourself,” he said, polishing off the last of the contents of his dish.  
  
“We need to get some weight back on you,” she said. “You got far too thin in that cell.”  
  
“You should have seen me in my youth,” he said.  
  
“I imagine you were dangerous,” she teased, standing and shooting him a wink. “I had better go tend to grumplepuss before he decides I'm getting my head turned.”  
  
_Grumplepuss!_ He wasn't sure he'd be able to look at Odo with a straight face after that, so he turned his focus and attention on Leeta, standing and crossing to where she stood with a drink. “Have I said you look positively radiant this evening?” he asked.  
  
She squinted at him. “You're flattering me, so you must want something.”  
  
“Just your charming company,” he said.  
  
“Mmhmm,” she nodded, clearly skeptical.  
  
“Well, perhaps I wanted to ask you something,” he conceded.  
  
“Thought so,” she said, sipping her drink.  
  
“Why are you standing all the way over here when he's all the way over there?” he asked.  
  
“We broke up, Garak. You know that,” she said patiently. “Why aren't you over there?”  
  
“I'm not talking about Julian,” he said, slightly sing-song.  
  
She blushed prettily. “They're having a conversation. It took Rom such a long time to warm up to Julian, I don't have the heart to interrupt.”  
  
He snorted. “Of all of the things I've thought of you over time, I've never thought you lacking in courage.”  
  
She took his upper arm in a strong grip and turned him so that they weren't facing the two, leaning close. “I made the first move with Julian,” she hissed, “and it was a disaster. I'm not going down that road again. I need to feel wanted, not like I'm...pushing things.”  
  
“I understand, dear,” he said, equally low. He was well aware of how sharp Rom's hearing was. “Just don't be so stand-offish that he takes it as rejection. You know he's not the most confident.”  
  
“I'm not being stand-offish,” she said, then paused. “Am I? Did I look stand-offish just now?”  
  
“No,” he said, realizing this might be more difficult than he thought it would be at the outset. “As I said, you look radiant.”  
  
She shook her head and cracked a smile. “You're a shameless flirt, and you're good for my ego, even if I know you're a huge liar.”  
  
“Does that mean you intend to keep me around?” he asked, enjoying himself in their familiar refrain.  
  
“Maybe for a while,” she teased. “Now go circulate some more, or people are going to start feeling neglected.”  
  
“Circulate with me?”  
  
She searched his gaze for a moment and nodded. He couldn't tell what she thought she saw there, or even if she perhaps read him correctly and found him still feeling a tad overwhelmed. She hooked an elbow in the crook of his arm, and paraded him around the room like her own personal prize for more socializing.  
  
At last some of the guests began to leave, the ones with small children first, followed by others, until only his closer friends and Jake remained. He felt comfortable enough with them to be able to say he had had enough, in a polite way, of course. “It has been such a lovely evening,” he said. “However, as I'm sure you can imagine, I'd like to get home. The conference is just two days away, and I'll need some time to settle back in.”  
  
“Oh, that's right! The conference,” Aroya said. “You know, I'm so pleased you're going. Leeta and I were just talking about that the other day. If I could take the time off, I'd go just to hear what you have to say.”  
  
He doubted seriously she would like it and found himself just as glad that she wasn't going. “Perhaps Odo can tell you about it when he gets back.” Odo shot him a look he happily ignored.  
  
“Dad is going,” Jake said. “I wanted to, but they said no non-Bajoran press. I think they want to keep it fairly low key.”  
  
“Doubtless,” Garak said. He moved to gather his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “I can't thank all of you enough. This meant a great deal to me.”  
  
“You should really thank Ziyal,” Leeta said. “It was her idea.”  
  
“Oh, it was more of a joint effort,” Ziyal added quickly.  
  
“You're too modest,” Julian said, smiling at her.  
  
“I don't doubt that, either,” Garak said.  
  
“If your replicator is acting up after all its inactivity, give me a call,” Rom said. “I don't care what time it is. Have a good night, Garak.”  
  
“You as well,” he said. He nodded all around, smiled, and left them for the night. Once out of easy view, he picked up his pace. It wasn't that he hadn't truly had a good time. He had. It was just that the call of his own place was strong to him after all that time away and lack of privacy. He wished that he would have more time before the conference, yet he was willing to take whatever he could get. Despite the quarters' smelling stale and a layer of dust over everything, he couldn't recall ever feeling happier about the place. Instead of unpacking, he simply changed the bedclothes, took a long, very hot bath, dressed in thick pajamas, and climbed into his bed. He couldn't recall the last time he had fallen asleep so quickly and easily only to sleep the night through with no troubling dreams.  
  
_Julian  
Internment Camp 371_  
  
Turning his gaze away from Tain's malicious enjoyment of his predicament, Julian shifted so that he could swing his legs over the edge of the hard bunk, sit up, and set his feet to the floor. His head swam with the residual of whatever drug coursed through his system. Before he had time to react, a female Romulan stepped from shadow to his left and grasped his wrist, slicing something sharp across his palm. “Ow!” he cried out harshly and snatched his hand back, blood spattering the floor in a thin red arc.  
  
The woman looked from him to Tain. “This one isn't a changeling,” she said matter-of-factually.  
  
“I could've told you that,” Tain said with avuncular cheer. “Doctor Bashir and I go back a long way, don't we, Doctor?”  
  
He pointedly ignored both of them for the time it took him to examine his hand and realize that the cut, however painful for being unexpected, was shallow. “I don't suppose there's anything available to clean this,” he said acerbically.  
  
“Allow me to show you to our lavish bathing facility,” the Romulan's acidic tone surpassed his in sarcasm.  
  
Tain made a soft tutting sound with his tongue. “Sela, is that any way to treat our new bunk mate?”  
  
“Since when do you care?” she scoffed, shifting her hard gaze from Julian to Tain.  
  
He watched the two of them, fascinated but hardly surprised by how quickly the Cardassian managed to back her down with nothing more than a change to the set of his eyes. Without a word, she turned on her heel and left them, slamming the cell door behind her. Movement caught the corners of his eyes, and with a start, he realized that a Breen was lying on a bunk against the far wall. He felt as though he were trying to think through a thick layer of gauze, his mind slow to track and process. It suddenly hit him as unusual that any of them would be free to come and go from their cell. Before he could ask, Tain began to speak again.  
  
“Don't get too excited by Sela's dramatic departure,” he said dryly. “You can leave the cell at any time you like, except during lock downs. You won't get far. We're on an asteroid.”  
  
“Why should I believe you?” he asked, not wanting to admit how disconcerted he felt at the moment surrounded by enemies of the Federation, sharing quarters with _Enabran Tain,_ a man he had thought long dead and good riddance.  
  
Tain shrugged. “I personally don't care if you mistake an airlock for an exit. You're hardly useful to any of us without your drugs and equipment.” He smiled faintly with dark amusement. “Although I'd love to know what your replacement is doing right now. Do you think Elim will notice?”  
  
He felt sick at those words. It hadn't occurred to him that if he was here, there must be a changeling in his place. With the state of things between him and Garak, he considered it very likely that Garak would not notice. He would probably be relieved if it seemed that Julian was finally backing off and giving him the space he demanded. Garak's incarceration wasn't to last that much longer. He wouldn't even have to see him...the changeling...at all if he didn't wish.  
  
“Was it something I said?” Tain asked with a smirk at his crestfallen expression. A moment later, he was all business. “Actually, there is something you can do for me, since the Breen is utterly useless and the others seem to be off on their own recognizance.”  
  
“What makes you think I'll help you with anything?” Julian demanded, folding his arms and projecting as much contempt as he could manage after being drugged and confronted with such terrifying possibilities.  
  
“You want out of here, don't you?” Tain asked reasonably.  
  
Frowning, he nodded reluctantly. Of course he did. It didn't take someone with Tain's intellect and observation skills to determine that, which made the offer that much more galling, a simple trap. “What do you need me to do?”  
  
As he stood watch at the austere cell door after sequestering Tain in the hidden alcove, he reflected how he shouldn't have been surprised that the old spymaster had a trick up his sleeve, modifying the outdated life support system into a subspace transmitter. He hated the feeling of hope in his breast, because it meant he was relying on someone he normally wouldn't trust to give him the accurate time of day. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering at the relationship between Tain and Garak, what the two actually were to one another. Little wonder that his friend and sometime lover was so resourceful with this man as his mentor.  
  
He didn't know how long he stood there with nothing changing, nothing happening, the silent and strangely still Breen at his back, sweat slowly beading and tickling its way down his skin, and his stomach churning as much from anxiety as the drug. How long was he expected to do this? He also realized he needed to relieve himself. Tain had mentioned others. Which others besides the Romulan female, Sela? Where were they?  
  
Glancing over his shoulder, he eyed the dark access port to the unused life support system. How had they even discovered it? He supposed if life at this...prison, if that's what it was...was as uneventful as it seemed to be, all of them would have been looking for creative ways to occupy their time, to escape. He was so absorbed with his curiosity that he almost missed the sound of footsteps approaching. The heavy treads galvanized him into action. He rushed to the opening and dropped to his knees. “Tain,” he called in hushed urgency. When he received no response, he dared more volume. “Tain! We've got company. Come on!”  
  
Torn between scuttling in after the man to find out what was wrong or closing up the port, he realized he didn't have time for the former. He was frantically trying to force his limbs to obey him and set the panel into place when the door swung open, and a Klingon and male Romulan rushed him. Just before the Klingon's boot connected with his chin and stole his consciousness, he realized that he recognized him, General Martok.  
  
He awoke to voices, at first unable to open his eyes. His entire head throbbed with the pain centered at his chin and jaw. He wondered if it was broken. “...didn't think to ask him what he was doing first?” He recognized the voice as Sela's, raised with anxiety and accusation.  
  
“You know how important the plan is,” Martok retorted in a growl. “All I knew was that someone was there who wasn't supposed to be, and Tain was nowhere in sight!”  
  
“This fighting is getting us nowhere,” a third voice cut in, another male. “Tain is unconscious. If we can't get him back on his feet, we're done.”  
  
“This one,” Sela's voice drew closer, “is a doctor, according to the Cardassian. If you two hadn't been so quick to kick him senseless, he might have been able to help with that.”  
  
“I didn't kick him,” the third voice said tautly.  
  
“You didn't try to stop Martok, did you?” she spat.  
  
“Would you like to try to stop Martok?” the third retorted.  
  
“Enough!” Martok bellowed. Julian heard the same heavy tread from the corridor approaching him swiftly. “This one is playing dead and listening to every word we're saying.” Strong fingers seized him by his uniform front and hauled him up to a seated position. “Open your eyes, human,” the Klingon said, his breath washing foul and foetid over his face.  
  
He did so, blearily, and tried to focus. His head felt as though it might pop off the stem of his neck and roll to the floor at any minute. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a distorted croak. He tried to motion that he needed something to drink, his hand no more cooperative than it had been before he was knocked out.  
  
“Get him some water,” Martok said over his shoulder. “Use my supply.”  
  
The male Romulan he had seen just before losing consciousness swam into focus and held a crude metal cup to his lips. “Slowly,” he said, “or you'll make yourself sick.”  
  
He nodded to show he understood and sipped at the water, having a better time of it when the Romulan supported the back of his head with his free hand. “Thank you,” he rasped, motioning that he had enough for the moment. The man withdrew, and Julian tried to focus on Martok's face. It was battered, with bruises in various stages of healing, congealing blood streaking one temple, and a messily healed missing eye. “General,” he said carefully, “you seem to be in need of medical attention. May I?”  
  
“You know who I am?” the Klingon asked suspiciously.  
  
“I'm afraid so,” he said. “A changeling...”  
  
Martok held up a hand, and Julian flinched, expecting to be struck. A touch of regret came into the Klingon's remaining eye. “At ease, Starfleeter,” he rumbled. “I'm not going to hurt you again. That was an...unfortunate misunderstanding. As for the rest, I don't need to hear that now.”  
  
Realizing that was probably as close to an apology as he was going to get, Julian nodded very slowly to avoid making himself dizzy again. “What's wrong with Tain?” he asked, forcing himself to focus through the pain. He also realized that Martok wasn't likely to allow him to examine his injuries, not yet at least.  
  
“A heart condition,” Sela's voice came from somewhere off to their left. “He was supposed to stay out of the alcove for another four hours.” A touch of accusation colored the statement.  
  
Gently, Julian pushed at Martok to indicate he could sit up on his own. The Klingon stood and stepped back to give him room. He swung his feet back to the floor and braced himself with his hands on the hard metal lip. “He didn't tell me that,” he said defensively. “After you stormed out of here, he said he needed my help, so I gave it to him.”  
  
“Stubborn as a targ and twice as ugly,” Martok said with grudging admiration, glancing at Tain's prone form on his bunk. “You can't blame the doctor,” he told the Romulan. “When Tain wants something, he gets it.” He offered a hand up to Julian.  
  
Accepting the help, he allowed the general to haul him to his feet and was grateful that the man kept his hold until he seemed steady. He glanced around at the stern faces, including the masked Breen still lying on the bunk, and said, “I'm Doctor Julian Bashir, stationed at Deep Space Nine. I'm not sure of how much use I'll be without any supplies, but I'll help as I can.” He approached Tain on slightly unsteady feet and knelt beside him, reaching first to take his pulse, then to test his skin flexibility and look beneath his eyelids. He didn't like anything he was seeing. “He's severely dehydrated,” he said.  
  
“They barely give us enough food or water to keep us alive,” the male Romulan said bitterly.  
  
He wasn't surprised to hear it. “Well,” he said slowly, “if you want him to stay alive, we're all going to have to figure out a way to go with a little less. Can one of you help me lift him? We need to get some water in him now.”  
  
“You'll choke him,” Sela snapped.  
  
He forced down the first retort that came to mind. He had no idea how long any of these people had been there or what kind of stress they were under. Answering in kind would simply ratchet the tension, something none of them needed. “Not if we hold him at the proper angle,” he explained patiently. “He'll swallow reflexively, and if we take it slowly, it won't go down his trachea.”  
  
“I'll hold him,” Martok said, striding forward and working an arm under the Cardassian. “You show me the angle, Doctor.”  
  
Julian helped him get Tain adjusted while Sela systematically stopped at each bunk, pouring a bit of water from every container into Tain's cup until she reached the Breen's bunk. For the first time, the alien reacted, sitting up swiftly and barking out something distorted and garbled that the universal translator made no sense of.  
  
“Do you want out of here or not?” Sela demanded, glaring hard at the face mask of the Breen's helmet. “I know you can understand me! Now give me some of that water, or Varal and I will take it from you, I swear it.”  
  
The male Romulan stepped closer to the Breen, his intention plain in expression and body language. They all held position for several tense moments until the Breen slowly eased to the side and stood. Varal interposed himself between the alien and Sela while she took some of the water to top off the cup. Julian found himself wondering whether the Romulans were related in some way, crew members, family, lovers, or if they were simply being held together by chance. He couldn't read enough of their body language with one another to make even an educated guess at this point.  
  
Varal didn't back away from his vigil until Sela was at Tain's bunk with the cup, and even then, he simply backed up a few steps so that the Breen could return to its bunk unimpeded. “Thank you,” Julian said. To his dismay, he realized his hands weren't yet as steady as he needed them to be. He moved out of the way and gestured to Sela. “I'm going to need you to do this.” He held his hand out to show her the slight tremor. “I don't know if it's from the drug they gave me or being knocked unconscious,” he said evenly.  
  
She nodded, faint contempt for him flashing in her eyes before she took his place. He watched her set the cup rim between Tain's ashen lips. She tipped it until a small, thin stream of water flowed into his mouth and paused the flow for every reflexive swallow. It took several minutes for the cup to be fully drained.  
  
“One more,” Julian said, bracing himself for how that would likely be received.  
  
To his surprise, no one argued. Sela simply made a second round to the water reserves, and this time the Breen didn't even twitch when she took from its supply. He realized that his companions had the same faith in Tain as he unexpectedly possessed, even the Breen, and he wasn't sure what that said of their situation. He suspected it was nothing good.

**Part II**

_Garak  
The Promenade_  
  
On his way to lunch at the Replimat the day before his departure, Garak looked in and noticed Jake and Ziyal seated at a corner table near the back, the two of them grinning and tittering with their heads close together. He was happy to see her having a good time with someone close to her own age, and if it had to be a boy, she could certainly do worse than Jake Sisko. He retrieved his food and found a place to watch them from which neither would easily notice. Perhaps the time of his planned talk with Jake was more imminent than he had realized.  
  
He was barely into dessert when Ziyal stood, gathering her sketch book and a PADD, and left Jake with a press to his palm. She exited the Replimat with a bounce to her step, the sound of humming drifting back to Garak. He stood swiftly and silently, upon Jake with a hand to his shoulder before the young man could even think to get up and be on his way. He gave a satisfying jump beneath the touch. “Mister Garak!” he said, sinking back into the chair with relief. “I didn't hear you come up.”  
  
“Mind if I join you?” Garak asked, taking the seat beside him before he could answer.  
  
“N—uh, go ahead,” Jake said, brows knitting. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“Not at all,” the tailor replied. “I couldn't help but to notice your charming lunch companion. Pity I didn't arrive in time to say hello to both of you.”  
  
“Ziyal?” Jake asked. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “She's great, isn't she? We're working on a story together. Well, I'm working on the story. She told me she'd illustrate it, so I gave her the rough draft to get some ideas for the sketches.”  
  
“A collaboration,” Garak said pleasantly. “How nice. I assume that if this is for publication, you intend that she gets her share of any profit?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he said more uncertainly. “I mean, we haven't even talked about it that far. It might be just for fun. She's a lot of fun.”  
  
“Is she?” the Cardassian asked, shifting very slightly forward in his seat.  
  
Jake laughed nervously. “Yeah, sure. You know...as a friend. Totally as a friend. You don't think...I mean...”  
  
He decided he had tormented the young human enough. He didn't want to put him off of her company altogether. He simply wanted to remind him that there were eyes on the young woman and her comings and goings whether he noticed them or not. “I think you're a reasonably intelligent young man,” Garak said, pushing to his feet, “and it pleases me to see you and Ziyal enjoying one another's company. You could both use friends your own age.” He paused and added, “If you do decide that you see her as more than a friend, I trust you won't make...assumptions...based on the fact that her father is not here, and Major Kira is distracted with the pregnancy.”  
  
Jake's dark eyes widened. “No Sir,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “I wouldn't do anything like that. I promise, and anyway, I really do just like her as a friend. I...I don't think I can handle the idea of Gul Dukat as...well...you know.” His eyes said he didn't much like the idea of a hovering Garak, either, which was exactly what the older man was after.  
  
Garak snorted a soft chuckle. “Believe me, that I can understand all too well. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.” As he walked away, he could almost feel Jake's eyes on his back, a bundle of nerves and relief. He hoped that he hadn't pushed him too hard. He simply felt like something needed to be said. Ziyal didn't need rumors flying around the station about her and the captain's son.  
  
He still didn't feel as though his shop was back in the order he wanted it to be. Dust lay stubbornly in the folds of the clothing. The entire place had a slightly stale, slightly musty scent hanging about that no amount of ionization and ozone treatments seemed to touch. He realized he might need to call in a professional cleaning crew and decided that while he was away on Bajor would be the perfect time to have them come. He placed the call and made the appointment without further delay.  
  
Business was brisk, most of his regulars stopping by either to place orders, browse, or drop off items for adjustment and mending. Apparently, quite a bit of work had piled up during his incarceration. He felt a small amount of pride that most of them had waited for him to get out rather than take their business elsewhere. It went a long way toward erasing the feeling that more than his girth had diminished while he was locked away.  
  
By the end of the day, he felt somewhat overwhelmed, to go from long hours of solitude punctuated by brief visits one on one and unwelcome examinations in the infirmary to a steady stream of customers and a heavy work load more than he expected. He closed shop with a dual sense of accomplishment and relief and called Ziyal to let her know that he'd rather have dinner with her in her quarters than go out as they had planned.  
  
He stopped by his own quarters first to freshen up and change into a clean tunic. It felt so good to be there, he almost called her back to cancel. He had no intention of inviting anyone there to see him any time soon, the sense of having his own place and genuine privacy too precious to wish to give away. Blessedly, Julian had been content to leave him alone since his release. He hadn't seen him since the party. Although he knew it wasn't the younger man's fault, that he had a job to do and was doing it to the best of his ability, he felt some residual resentment about being dragged in day after day for the hypospray injections. It had been a violation, one he didn't appreciate. Maybe the doctor sensed that.  
  
He arrived for dinner precisely on time bearing a replicated bouquet. As gifts went, he knew it was less than impressive. He was too exhausted to make much effort. Besides, he dined often enough with Ziyal that the custom of the host gift seemed almost a little superfluous. She accepted it with her usual gracious smile and arranged it pleasingly on the dining table. “I didn't have time to order takeout,” she said. “I hope that's OK.”  
  
“At this point, I'm willing to eat just about anything,” he said, sinking into his seat with a soft grunt of relief to be off his feet.  
  
“Long day?” she asked, shooting him a concerned glance and taking her seat opposite him. She deftly reached to pile both of their plates with the Cardassian cuisine she had replicated on trays.  
  
He nodded, waiting for her to begin eating before he did so. “It's flattering, truly, and also a relief. Many businesses would die if the sole proprietor and worker was away as long as I was, particularly considering what I did.”  
  
She leaned in closer and lowered her voice, despite the fact that just the two of them were there. “People aren't as angry with you about that as you might think,” she said. “At least most people I've heard talking about it aren't. Some of them wish you had succeeded.”  
  
“In killing their Emissary?” he asked, a brow ridge rising. He had heard no such thing, himself.  
  
“Not that part,” she shrugged it off. “But in destroying the Founders? Definitely.”  
  
“Are you one of these people?” he asked, beyond surprised to be having this conversation with her.  
  
She glanced away, her lips tightening slightly. “I'm...divided...in how I feel about it,” she said. She took a small bite of sem'hal stew and chewed thoughtfully. “Had you succeeded, pretty much everyone I care about except Nerys and Father would be dead, you included, but...” She sighed and took a sip of spring wine. “I can't help but to worry about how many people will die because of them, if they invade like people keep saying they're going to.”  
  
“I wish you didn't have to worry about such things,” he said. He tired quickly of the depressing topic. “Are you sure you won't change your mind about coming to Bajor with me?” he teased. He knew fully well her reasons for not wishing to attend the conference and believed them to be good ones. However, it seemed to please her when he admitted to wanting her company, and he wanted to see her smile.  
  
The grin broke sunny and lit her eyes. “I'm positive,” she said, reaching to swat him. “I don't have to tell you why. Ask me again at some other time, and I'll go anywhere you like. I've wanted to see more of the planet. Mother and I never had the opportunity to travel much when we lived there. It was too dangerous for us. There are probably still places it would be dangerous. I'd feel safer with you.”  
  
“You would be anything but safe with me,” he protested, shaking his head and recalling his last disastrous visit to the surface. “I'm not entirely convinced this conference isn't some elaborate ruse to lure me in and finish what some people started a few years ago.”  
  
“What happened?” she asked, eyes wide and smile fading.  
  
“A botched kidnapping by two rank amateurs,” he said lightly. “I'd be lucky if it happened again, something to break the boredom I'm bound to experience if this goes anything like I expect it will.”  
  
Her smile returned, a little teasing and reproachful. “You're terrible; you know that? It's not going to be that bad. I'm sure you'll be very eloquent and persuasive. Maybe you'll even manage to stir up some real, honest debate. I know how much you like that.”  
  
“I'll let you know, either way,” he said, also smiling. The two lapsed into very comfortable silence while they finished their meal together. He didn't worry about how much he ate or about having a full helping of spice pudding. As others had said to him, he knew he had lost too much weight during his time in the holding cell. He wanted to feel like himself again, inside and out. Ziyal's gaze on him was warm and approving while he consumed the dessert.  
  
After the meal, he insisted on clearing the table then joined her on the sofa where she showed him her new sketches. The one of Jake struck him as particularly...true. She managed to capture the boy with his stylus in hand and his head bent over a PADD. “Did he know you were sketching him?” he asked.  
  
She giggled lightly. “No. At first, I tried to do one having him pose for me, but he couldn't hold himself right, and he kept fidgeting and saying he itched. I realized we could be there all day, so I told him we'd try again some other time, and then I just waited until he settled himself at a table in Quark's and started writing. It's the only time I've ever seen that he's mostly still. You really like that one?”  
  
“I think you captured him,” he said. He wondered if there were any sketches of him tucked away somewhere that she would never show him and if any of them had been created in the same way as this one. He could usually tell when he was being watched, but would he notice such gentle attention? He wasn't sure that he would.  
  
“Would you like it?” she offered.  
  
“I think you should give it to Captain Sisko,” he said, “if you intend to give it away at all.”  
  
“Oh, I don't know,” she said quickly. “I...wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea about me and Jake.”  
  
“I don't think he would. If anything, your offering him the sketch would indicate not only that you're not trying to hide anything, but that there's nothing to hide. Ziyal, you wear your heart in your eyes. Captain Sisko isn't going to read anything that's not there.”  
  
“If you think so,” she said hesitantly, a little shyly. “You really think it's that good?”  
  
“I really do,” he said honestly.  
  
She carefully tore the sketch free and set it on the low table in front of them. “Then I'll give it to him tomorrow before all of you leave,” she said. “I'm so glad you're out of that cell. I've missed being able to talk like this, about anything at all without worrying about a security feed or a guard walking in on us. It never felt right in there, and I positively hated having to leave you behind every day.”  
  
“I know,” he said. She was good to him, so much better than he deserved. Sometimes it made him feel sad and old, but mostly it was a comfort he never expected to have in his exile. He decided he should leave before the temptation to tell her so overtook him. She didn't need burdening with his regrets. “Walk me to the door?” he asked, moving to stand. “The shuttle leaves early in the morning for Bajor. I want to be certain I'm well rested.”  
  
“Of course,” she said, standing gracefully and moving with him. “I'm glad you decided to eat in. I wasn't much in the mood for a lot of noise or having to watch Rom avoid Leeta yet again.”  
  
“I noticed that at the party,” he said mildly.  
  
She rolled her eyes expressively. “It's so stupid. He likes her. She likes him. Life is too short to play games like that, don't you think?”  
  
Coming from her at her young age, it was amusing. He did his best to hide it, fairly sure she wouldn't appreciate his laughing at her for her earnestness. “I do,” he said instead, offering her a palm to press.  
  
She did so with mock demureness, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What time does the shuttle leave?” she asked. “I want to catch the captain to give him the sketch.”  
  
“I'm sure it has nothing to do with seeing me off and wishing me luck,” he deadpanned.  
  
“Oh, that's right. You'll be there, too?” she asked, fighting a smile.  
  
“0700,” he told her, amused with the teasing. “Good night, Ziyal. Thank you for dinner.”  
  
“No, thank you,” she said, stepping back and letting the door shut.  
  
He smiled off and on all the way back to his quarters, wondering how it was that any Dukat could be quite so charming or lift his spirits so thoroughly. He already had most of his things packed, holding off on grooming essentials until the morning. It seemed as though his head hardly hit the pillow before it was time to get up, shower, dress, check his bag one last time, and eat a quick breakfast. He approached his impending task with very mixed feelings, yet again wondering if he had made a mistake. He figured that he would know soon enough.  
  
When he reached the docking ring, he found Odo and Captain Sisko already there with Aroya and Jake. The boy looked sleep muzzy and barely awake. Aroya was her usual alert, chipper self, chatting happily with the constable and the captain. She turned a beaming smile on Garak when he walked up to the small group. “Keep an eye on this one,” she said, patting Odo's chest. “Don't let him get into trouble.”  
  
“I'm not the one you should be worried about,” Odo grumbled. Garak could tell that for all his protesting, some part of him enjoyed being fussed over.  
  
“I have to say, I was surprised to find your name on the roster, Mister Garak,” Sisko said, favoring him with one of his peculiarly aggressive smiles.  
  
Aroya cut in before Garak could retort in kind. “I don't find it that surprising,” she said. “Garak has always shown an interest in the treaty between Cardassia and Bajor. Who better to attend this conference than someone who has lived among Bajorans after the occupation but was also here during it? I think it gives him a unique perspective.”  
  
Being defended so openly took him aback. He recovered himself quickly, offering a complex smile of his own to Sisko. “Precisely what I was about to say, only she said it so much better.”  
  
Ziyal's voice from behind him interrupted anything further Sisko might have said. “Oh, good, I'm not too late,” she said. She pressed a quick kiss to Garak's cheek in passing and held up a small cylinder to the captain. “I have something for you.” She gave a playful side glance at Jake. “Don't look at it until you're in the shuttle, OK?”  
  
Jake attempted to pay a little more attention to the conversation, smirking at the girl. “What are you up to?” he asked with mock suspicion.  
  
“That's for me to know,” she teased.  
  
Surprised and perhaps a little flustered, Sisko accepted the gift. “Thank you, Ziyal,” he said. “What's the occasion?”  
  
“No occasion,” she answered with a shrug. “Haven't you ever been given a gift just because?”  
  
“Not often,” he admitted with a much softer smile than he had given to Garak.  
  
“It looks as though Commander Dax is late...again,” Odo said, shooting a significant glance at the captain.  
  
“Don't grumble,” Aroya said. “More time for us.”  
  
Odo didn't say it, but Garak could hear the “hmph” loud and clear in his head just from the security chief's expression. He gave him a vaguely sympathetic look. He didn't care for tardiness, either. The reason for it was evident enough when Dax rushed up with Worf in tow a few moments later. “Sorry,” she said. “So sorry! It's this stupid dress uniform!”  
  
Sisko arched a brow. “We didn't have to dress up for this, Old Man,” he said. “Not until the opening ceremony this evening.”  
  
“We didn't?” she asked, eyes wide.  
  
Garak snorted inwardly. It was one of the most transparent attempts at innocence he had ever seen. Honestly, why did she bother? Everyone knew what she and Worf had been doing and why. Nobody cared.  
  
“Can we please go now?” Odo asked. “I want to get settled at the hotel as soon as possible.”  
  
He had become quite a bit more impatient since being made a solid, Garak thought. Perhaps it was because now he was capable of feeling real discomfort, his feet tiring, his back hurting, hunger, all of the little things that went along with having a body that always stayed cohesive.  
  
He couldn't keep himself from glancing around the docking ring once. He was a little surprised that Julian hadn't come to see him off. While he appreciated being given his space, it just seemed a little strange not having him there. Even Rom and Leeta both had left him quick messages over the comm to say good luck. He wondered if Julian felt as offended as he had about the hypospray issue. If so, perhaps he had a little mending to do beyond tailoring when he returned.  
  
He glanced away from Odo and Aroya to give them their privacy for their good-bye, Dax and Worf, too, for an entirely different reason. He accepted a hug from Ziyal, good luck wishes from Jake, and then a hug from Aroya when she was done with Odo. “I want to hear all about it,” she told all of them with a cheerful wave and draped a companionable arm around Ziyal's shoulders.  
  
Garak stepped onto the runabout last. He didn't enjoy the feeling of people at his back he didn't entirely trust, and as Odo had boarded first, that left him with no other option. He took some satisfaction in being able to tell that neither Dax nor Sisko particularly wanted him at their backs. It was nice to have reminders of who he really was and of what he was capable when he put his mind to it.  
  
He relaxed once the craft cleared the station, its nose pointed toward Bajor. Despite his earlier misgivings, he was completely seized now with the desire to set foot on firm ground, breathe fresh air, and see an actual horizon again. It had been far too long.  
  
_Julian  
Internment Camp 371_  
  
Some time after Tain regained consciousness, Julian curled on his side on a metal bunk to try to get a little sleep. His entire face throbbed to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Martok's snores seemed loud enough to rattle the door, and Sela and Tain went another round, this time about his carelessness regarding his own health. Eventually, the bickering died away, and sheer exhaustion drove the Klingon's snores into a distant part of Julian's awareness.  
  
He jolted awake to the sensation of being dragged from his bunk by the nape of his uniform neck. “Hey!” he shouted reflexively. “Where are you taking me? Hey!”  
  
Varal's face swam briefly into view as the Jem'Hadar dragged Julian from the cell. “Don't fight them,” the Romulan hissed urgently. “It's processing.”  
  
_What's processing?_ Julian wanted to ask. There was no time for it. He somehow managed to get his feet under him so that the toes of his boots weren't dragging on the hard, bare floor. The guard released him to stand in a small, motley grouping at the center of a wide open space. Harsh white light bore down on the prisoners, all of them blinking and squinting as though just roused from sleep as he had been. He noticed at least one other human and a Vulcan to either side of him. He didn't dare crane his neck to look behind.  
  
A Jem'Hadar stepped out of rank with two others and raised his voice to address them. “This is Internment Camp Three Seven One,” he said, his voice echoing from the walls. “You are here because you are enemies of the Dominion. There is no release, no escape...except death. You are free to move about the compound, but remember, beyond the atmospheric dome, there's nothing but airless vacuum and barren rock. Leave the dome, even for an instant, and you die.”  
  
It sounded to Julian as though this was a speech the guard was used to making. A dozen different questions shot through his mind. He chose to voice none of them. It didn't seem wise to call attention to himself. He could better spend his time exploring and discovering if this place truly were as impregnable as they seemed to want the prisoners to believe.  
  
“Y...you're Starfleet?” a timid voice drew him away from his thoughts. The guards were already dispersing. Apparently, they were done with the group for now.  
  
Julian looked at the man addressing him, the human he had noticed in his peripheral vision. “That's right,” he said. “Doctor Julian Bashir, and you are?”  
  
“T...Timor Branagh,” the man answered, licking his lips. He ran a spidery hand through thinning hair. “I'm a...I'm a merchant. I don't understand why I'm here.”  
  
“You're a liar,” the Vulcan said, turning a cool eye upon the man.  
  
“You know him?” Julian asked, glancing between the two.  
  
“I do not,” the Vulcan responded.  
  
“Then how do you know...” Julian started to ask.  
  
“I can hear it in his tone of voice. He may or may not be a merchant, but he assuredly knows why he is here.”  
  
Branagh dropped the timid act. “Bah, Vulcans,” he muttered, shooting the taller alien an unpleasant look. “Alright, sure. I know why I'm here. I suppose you do, too, and so does he. You tell me, Mister High and Mighty, what does it say of any of our chances that they've taken a Starfleet officer prisoner?”  
  
“I do not possess enough information to make that calculation,” the Vulcan said simply. He then turned his attention to Julian with such a finality that it was obvious he had nothing else to say to Branagh. “Doctor Bashir of Deep Space Nine,” he said.  
  
Julian glanced at Branagh and back to the Vulcan. “That's right. I believe you have me at a disadvantage. I don't know who you are.”  
  
“A disadvantage?” the man arched a brow. “I do not understand how.”  
  
Branagh snorted and turned to walk away, shooting over his shoulder to Julian, “You get tired a' hanging around green bloods, come find me. Might be interesting.”  
  
Julian nodded politely at the man and addressed the Vulcan. “It's...a figure of speech. It's just...a little uncomfortable when someone knows more about you than you do about them.”  
  
He took it in impassively, still looking slightly puzzled, then seemed to decide to let it go. “I am Murak, one of the lead researchers at the Kulik'toh Institute.”  
  
Julian's eyes widened. “ _The_ Murak? One of the premier geneticists on Vulcan?”  
  
“Just so,” he replied. “I am familiar with your work. It is impressive...for a human.”  
  
“I'm flattered,” he said sincerely, still trying to recover from the shock.  
  
“Do not be. It is merely the truth,” Murak said.  
  
Julian nodded, trying to order his thoughts. “If you're here...” he said, not at all liking where that train of thought was going.  
  
“Yes, it does not bode well. The same can be said of you,” Murak said. “There seems to be an unusual number of Romulans and Cardassians here. Have you noticed this?”  
  
He shook his head. “I was brought here just last night. Well...that's when I became aware of where I was. I had been attending a burn conference. I believe I know who they are, though, or at least where they came from and why they're here.” At Murak's gesture that he should continue, he gave him a brief explanation of the failed joint Obsidian Order/Tal Shiar offensive and informed him that Enabran Tain himself was still alive and a bunkmate. He didn't mention Tain's project.  
  
“I have been so absorbed in my research that I rarely take time to inform myself of current events. It would seem that I have missed a great deal. I have heard, however, of changeling replacements of government officials and the most recent disturbance on Earth. If I am here, it means that the Dominion now has access to very sensitive information regarding not only the Vulcan genome but that of many races of the Alpha Quadrant.”  
  
He felt himself pale. “I don't even want to imagine what that means. I intend to explore the facility. You're welcome to join me if you wish.”  
  
“No. We will attract less attention and cover more territory if we conduct separate searches. I am being housed in barracks three. If you find anything of note or discover a weakness in our captors' defenses, you will have what aid I can give you, Doctor,” Murak said.  
  
“Likewise,” Julian answered, feeling slightly bolstered at the thought of having an ally in this place. “I'm in barracks six.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the geneticist about the escape plan, but he felt that it was not his to tell. He also had no idea what Tain or the others would do to him for spilling their secret and considered it highly likely they could decide to kill him. He had to be careful. Perhaps he could slowly convince the rest of them to trust Murak, though given the history between Romulus and Vulcan, he didn't consider it likely.  
  
The scientist walked away without offering a farewell. Julian watched him a moment then set out in a different direction. The facility was larger than he expected. He found the guard compound, or what he assumed to be such by the large number of Jem'Hadar congregated behind fencing. Giving them wide berth, he also located some of the other barracks. He contemplated sticking his head in and introducing himself. _Right,_ he thought dryly, _because there's nothing Cardassians and Romulans love more than Federation humans. Use your head, Julian._  
  
Trying to ignore the rumble in his belly, he next located a large shower facility of sorts. He recognized the chemical units and made a small moue of distaste. No wonder everyone smelled. Those dry powder showers did little more than remove body oil and thick grime. He hoped to find more than the foul bucket in the barracks for elimination but had no such luck. He wondered if the waste facilities were behind the locked door beside the showers. _Probably,_ he thought glumly. _If Garak were here, we could find out._ He smiled slightly at the thought, wondering how much time it would take for Garak to find something he could use to pick the lock and then make quick work of it.  
  
Aside from three separate airlocks, a wide, double set of metal doors shut tight and guarded, and an odd central arena, he found nothing that pointed to quick escape. _Did you really expect to if Tain has been here ever since the offensive?_ Feeling a little foolish and a lot daunted, he returned to the barracks to check on his reluctant patient. The Cardassian was already in the hole in the wall with Sela standing watch and Varal binding a seeping wound on Martok's forearm. The Breen was in its usual place on its bunk. He wondered idly if it was sick or simply overwhelmed by the oppressive heat of the place despite its atmosphere suit. He couldn't bring himself to think of it either as a “he” or a “she” absent any way to tell.  
  
“Thanks for the advice,” he said to Varal.  
  
“I didn't say it for your sake,” the Romulan retorted in a surly tone.  
  
“Right. I'm only useful for keeping Tain alive,” Julian said dryly.  
  
“Try not to take it personally, Doctor,” Martok said, lips twisting a curve of irony. “We all have our uses here.”  
  
“Except that one,” Sela shot over her shoulder with a twitch of her head toward the Breen.  
  
“How did he look this morning?” he asked, walking over to the hole in the wall and trying to peer into the murk. He couldn't see Tain. He was wormed too far into the maintenance shaft.  
  
“Ugly as ever,” the Klingon snorted. “How should we know? You're the doctor.”  
  
“He couldn't wait until I returned?” he asked, feeling exasperated already.  
  
“You're welcome to ask him that yourself,” Sela said with syrupy sweetness. “He loves visitors while he works.”  
  
“You should be doing this,” Varal said abruptly, stepping away from Martok and moving to shove Julian by the shoulder.  
  
“Hey! Hands off,” Julian barked. “I've been manhandled enough for one day.” He glared at the slightly taller Romulan until he spread his hands and stepped back, a small smirk up-ticking one corner of his thin mouth.  
  
Kneeling before the general, he peeled back the slash in the thick sleeve to have a closer look at the wound. “You're lucky it's not septic,” he said, glancing up into the man's one blue eye, “but it's a jagged cut. Do you really think picking fights in this situation is wise?” All three of his speaking companions let out harsh laughter. He glanced among them in consternation. “Did I say something funny?” he demanded.  
  
Martok sighed and pulled his arm out of Julian's gentle clasp. “I'm not 'picking fights', as you say,” he said curtly. “The Jem'Hadar see me as a challenge.”  
  
“I don't understand,” he said, brows knitting in confusion.  
  
“Every day they bring me to the arena, and I fight them, until all of them are beaten,” he said without emotion.  
  
“How long have you been here?” he asked, feeling the strength leaving his voice.  
  
“Two years,” Martok replied, standing and stepping around him. “Look at me with that cloying pity of yours again, Doctor, ally or no, and I'll have both your eyes.”  
  
Frustration and anger bubbled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. How could he possibly manage in this place, where every virtue of his was seen as vice or insult? How could he help these people if they refused him at every turn? “We're not allies, anymore,” he said harshly. “Your replacement saw to that.” He turned then and instantly regretted the words, the Klingon's shoulders sagging very slightly.  
  
“Tell me later,” Martok said, keeping his back to him. “They'll come for me soon.”  
  
“I want to watch,” he said, fighting tooth and nail to keep the waver from his voice.  
  
The Klingon glanced at him over his shoulder, a smile exposing sharp teeth. “You have a taste for blood sport?” he asked, sounding surprised.  
  
“No,” he said, standing from his kneel. “I need to see what I'm up against keeping you in the best shape possible.”  
  
“He's not the one you need to worry about,” Varal said.  
  
“I'll decide who I need to worry about,” Julian retorted. “You just do...whatever it is that makes you think you're useful.”  
  
He could tell he scored a point, the Romulan's jaw tightening. Sela snorted a derisive laugh. “What are you useful for, Varal? Remind me?”  
  
The Romulan male stalked toward the woman, a threat of violence in every line of his body. When he was nearly nose to nose with her, he hissed, “Ask me that the next time you need water from the Breen,” and pushed his way out of the barracks without another word.

**Part III**

_Brilliant,_ he thought to himself. _Way to fall right into the worst possible pattern you could. You need these people, and they need you, whether they realize it fully or not._ “Are you two crew mates?” he asked Sela.  
  
She arched a brow, not unlike the Vulcan scientist. “Why, exactly, do you need to know that?” she asked, not giving him a chance to answer. “You don't. Don't ask questions for which you don't need the answers. It's not a healthy habit in this place, even if you are a doctor.”  
  
“Help me with the panel,” Martok said, gesturing to Julian. “We don't have much time. Wait at least ten minutes until after I've left before removing it again, and then you can come to the arena. Whatever you do, don't interfere.”  
  
He glared so hard that Julian knew he had no choice but to agree. If the Jem'Hadar didn't decide to kill him for interference, he felt almost certain Martok would. “You have my word,” he said.  
  
“We'll see what that's worth,” the general growled. Together, they hefted the heavy wall panel back into place and tapped it down. Martok concealed the pry tool beneath a thin excuse of a blanket after showing Julian how to use it for when it was time to open the hatch again. A few moments later, two Jem'Hadar arrived to take Martok away. They looked eager, too eager for Julian's liking. Martok may have been extremely tough and resilient. He was still flesh. He had limits, and from the looks of him he was dangerously close to reaching them.  
  
“One day he won't come back,” Sela said.  
  
He wondered if he detected a faint note of regret in her tone. “Let's hope that's not today,” he said grimly. “Will you at least tell me how long you've been here?”  
  
“You humans and your idiotic need for bonding,” she scoffed. “What difference does it make if it has been two months or two years? I've combed every inch of this facility. There's no way out, no way other than what Tain has figured out. Stop asking pointless questions.”  
  
He sighed and scrubbed his hands through his tangled hair. His bunk mates were going to drive him insane if he couldn't figure out some way to relate to them. “You're right,” he said. “Humans do have a need to bond. All of us should be at our best given the circumstances, right? You want me to be able to help Tain, keep him alive, patch up Martok...deal with all of this? Then I'm going to need help. I'm going to need to feel like I'm not completely alone and like the rest of you aren't going to stab me in the back the first chance you get if it looks like we have a way out of here. Do you think that's pointless, too?”  
  
Keeping most of her attention on the window in their barracks door, she shot him a long, assessing look. “I was part of the mission,” she said grudgingly. “Lovok's mission. Varal wasn't on my ship, but he was part of it, too. I haven't seen anyone else from my crew. It doesn't mean they aren't here somewhere. No one has seen what's behind those double doors.” She twitched a shrug and turned her full attention back toward the window. “Better?” she asked tightly.  
  
“Much,” he said, feeling a little bit of the tension in him drain. “Thank you, Sela.” He waited what he thought was approximately ten minutes and pried open the panel. Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, he ducked through the hole and edged toward where he could now hear the stealthy sounds of Tain's work in progress. “How are you feeling?” he asked.  
  
“Interrupted,” Tain shot back instantly.  
  
“I wouldn't have had to interrupt you had you waited to get started until I came back,” he said, keeping his tone as light as possible.  
  
“I've come this far without you, Doctor Bashir,” the Cardassian said, his words slightly muffled as though he held something between his lips.  
  
“And your condition is progressing, partly because of that. You've worked too hard and too long without medication, rest, adequate food, or water,” he explained.  
  
“I'm sure if you take that up with our captors, they'll eagerly remedy the situation,” the spymaster said drolly. “Tell them I've been taking two hundred milligrams of Metrazene and ten grains of Benjisidrine for almost ten years now. While you're at it, ask them for a palm light. It can be a little difficult to see back here at times.”  
  
“I see where Garak gets his sarcasm,” he said, refusing to be provoked.  
  
“Oh, no, Elim's sarcasm is all his own,” Tain said, no longer sounding muffled. “Is there an actual point to this conversation, or are you becoming so enamored of this place already that you'd like to stay longer?”  
  
“I need to check your pulse and your hydration level, and then I'll be more than happy to let you get back to your work,” he said in his best no nonsense tone of voice.  
  
“Unless you can do that while I'm working, that's not going to happen,” Tain said rather flatly.  
  
“I can try,” he said, stepping closer. Although he was able to pinch some skin, try as he might, he couldn't work his fingers into place at Tain's wrist while the man dug at some circuitry with a make-shift tool. Quite suddenly he had the air knocked from him by a sharp elbow to the solar plexus. He fell back gasping and doubled over. “Ba-bastard!” he finally managed to wheeze out.  
  
“No, that's Elim,” Tain said smugly. “The next time I strike you, it won't be in the solar plexus, Doctor, and you won't recover from it. Get out of my crawl space, and don't come back again unless I'm unconscious or dead.”  
  
He backed out, not wanting to turn his back on Tain for even a moment, and took several deep breaths once he was back in the barracks. Sela glanced over at him. “I did warn you,” she said unsympathetically.  
  
“So you did,” he acknowledged, straightening and rubbing at the sore spot. “We're going to have to figure out something. At this rate, he's going to kill himself in a matter of days. I take it none of the rest of you have the slightest idea how to do what he's doing?”  
  
“If we did, he wouldn't be in there right now,” she said. “You're the one who's going to have to figure out something, Doctor. None of us can control him, and if any of us were to make a serious attempt, he'd have every Cardassian in this place beating down our door and killing us where we stand. They make up about a third of our population. I don't need to tell you the odds of our survival in that scenario.”  
  
“No,” he said. “I'm going to go watch Martok now. If Tain does collapse, come get me, for all the good it will do.” He left the barracks feeling extremely discouraged. How could he keep someone alive who refused to do the slightest thing to shift the odds in his favor?  
  
The sickening sound of fists thudding against flesh drew him straight to the odd arena he had seen earlier. It was difficult to force himself to watch, Martok and his Jem'Hadar opponent exchanging blows in such a vicious flurry that he couldn't tell who had advantage over whom. Martok blindsided his opponent with a high roundhouse, knocking him to the ground. The guard quickly scrambled to a post and banged the top of it with the flat of his hand, hauled himself to his feet, and turned to engage again.  
  
“What is he doing?” Julian asked the Jem'Hadar closest to him. “Why did he hit that post?”  
  
“It's the rules,” the guard answered without even looking at him.  
  
“Why Martok?” he asked.  
  
“Stop interrupting me with your foolish questions,” the guard spat. “You dishonor Ikat'ika.”  
  
“Who?” he asked, wondering if he was about to get punched for his trouble. It seemed to be the going trend.  
  
“The First,” the guard answered, finally turning an exasperated glare on him. Roughly, he grasped his shoulder and turned him toward his right. “There,” he said, pointing. “Address your questions to the First.”  
  
“Alright,” he said agreeably. “My apologies.” The guard ignored him, his attention already back on the fight. Julian took care that the Jem'Hadar, Ikat'ika, saw him coming. He didn't like to think of what would happen if he surprised one of them.  
  
“What do you want, human?” the First asked, eying him suspiciously.  
  
“One of my bunkmates is ill,” he said carefully.  
  
“If your bunkmate is lucky, he will die soon, then,” he said with supreme indifference.  
  
“If he had proper medication, his condition wouldn't be fatal,” he explained. He couldn't tell if he was getting through to the guard or not, the Jem'Hadar's flat, dark blue eyes unreadable in the scaly, horned face. “Is there any way for me to obtain medication? I'm a doctor. It's not in my nature simply to let another die.”  
  
“How badly do you wish to help this bunkmate of yours?” he asked, something calculating coming into the look.  
  
He knew he couldn't afford to back down or display fear, or he'd lose any chance he had at gaining the alien's respect or cooperation. “I'll do whatever it takes,” he said evenly, holding eye contact.  
  
The First smirked and turned to face the arena. “This match is over!” he called powerfully. “We have a new challenger for our arena.” Pausing, he glanced at Julian contemptuously. “What is your name, human?”  
  
“What are you doing?” Martok snarled, clawing to his feet and limping to Julian's side.  
  
Julian swallowed thickly. “Doctor Julian Bashir,” he said loudly.  
  
“No!” Martok bellowed, whirling on the First. “This one is under me, and I forbid this!”  
  
The First looked from Martok to Julian and back again. “He approached me for medication for one of your bunkmates. Are you saying he did this without your permission?”  
  
“He had my permission to ask,” Martok said quickly, betraying no sign of the lie, “but not to issue a challenge. Any challenge will be met by me. There would be no...honor...in fighting that one. You can see that for yourself.”  
  
Several of the Jem'Hadar muttered and nodded agreement. Julian felt his cheeks flame. He didn't dare to gainsay Martok in front of them, however, clamping his teeth over his tongue to keep himself from speaking out of turn.  
  
“What he has asked for is valuable,” Ikat'ika said. “Not to be had simply for the asking or a standard match. If you can fight and defeat three of my men at once without a kill, your doctor will have whatever medicine he asks of me. A single dose. For each subsequent dose, you will fight additional men per match. These are my terms. I will give you two minutes to decide.” He gestured his men back to the other side of the arena and went with them, leaving Martok to speak to Julian in relative privacy.  
  
“You can't do this,” Julian said low. “Let me fight one of them. It won't be the first time.”  
  
“Unarmed? Hungry? Already battered?” Martok seized his bruised chin in a rough grip. He was unable to control his writhing to escape the iron grasp. The Klingon released him abruptly. “You don't stand a chance.”  
  
“And you think you do?” he asked, fear for the general constricting his chest. “You're barely holding your own against one of them. It's not worth this. There has to be another way.”  
  
“Will this keep Tain alive?”  
  
“For a while. Even if they give me just one dose of Benjisidrine, I can break it into smaller doses. It won't be ideal, but it will help control his arrhythmia to a degree, which is currently the biggest threat to his survival,” he murmured.  
  
“Then it's worth it,” Martok said grimly. “I ought to knock you senseless for interfering after you gave your word. If this doesn't help Tain, I might yet.” He slapped him hard on the back and stepped into the arena. “I'm ready,” he said, baring his teeth in a fierce grin. “I accept the challenge!”  
  
_Garak  
Janitza Hotel  
Jalanda City, Bajor_  
  
Garak did his best to ignore the impression he always received from Bajoran architecture, that the buff colored stone was entirely too flesh-like and that the buildings squatted like hulking, misshapen giants. Clouds hung low and heavy in the overcast sky, threatening rain and turning the warm air thick. He disembarked last from the land transport that had retrieved the small Deep Space Nine party from the space port less than an hour away from the hotel. Two Bajorans hurried forward to unload their baggage onto a small anti-grav pallet and escort them into the sprawling lobby.  
  
To the side of the check-in desk sat a long table arrayed with packets, small bags, and fruit baskets. A short queue of Bajorans stood on the side nearest Garak and his companions, and three more worked busily on the other side, sorting them out and handing them various things from the table. An elderly female vedek approached them with a smile, her gaze flicking over each and lingering the longest on Sisko. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We cannot tell you how honored we are that you've chosen to come to the conference.” Garak felt certain those words were meant for Sisko alone. “Please, come this way. We'll get all of you checked into your rooms, and then I'll need the two of you,” here she indicated Odo and Garak, “to come with me to the panelist table.”  
  
The tailor nodded to indicate he understood and approached the desk a few steps behind the rest. He felt on heightened alert surrounded by these people in their own territory. When he had the opportunity, he claimed his one bag from the luggage pallet and secured the strap over his shoulder. He signed in, accepted his room code, and stepped aside for Odo to do the same. Dax turned and grinned at the security chief. “We'll see you later,” she said. “Benjamin promised we'd do a little shopping before the opening ceremony. I can't wait to hear what you have to say.” She glanced at Garak. “You, too, actually,” she said, her look more complex.  
  
“I do hope I don't disappoint,” Garak said with a very slight incline of his head, fixing her with a steady gaze.  
  
“I don't think you will,” she said easily then turned to Sisko, hooking an arm in his. “Nerys told me about this amazing shoe shop,” she said. “Lucky for us, it's less than four blocks from the hotel.”  
  
“Yes, lucky us,” Sisko echoed in a way that sounded anything but enthusiastic.  
  
The Cardassian smirked and watched them walk back the way they had come. Odo turned to him and leaned in. “Let's get this part over with,” he muttered.  
  
Nodding, Garak walked with him and their vedek escort to the sign-in table. Both of them signed their names into a waiting PADD and accepted one packet, one bag, and one basket apiece. With their arms full, they walked to the lift. He didn't like the feeling, both hands full in a small space with Odo, the vedek, and two other Bajorans who stepped in at the last second. At least he and the constable shared the same floor, just a few doors down from one another.  
  
“The opening ceremony will begin at the eighth bell,” the woman informed both of them in the walk down the hallway. “We're asking all of our panelists to attend an informal reception an hour and a half before that. It will give you the chance to get to know everyone and learn about the format in which we intend to conduct the conference. Any questions you have can be answered then.” She made certain that both of them found their rooms before leaving them with a cordial farewell.  
  
He was relieved to reach the privacy of his room. Before settling he gave the entire place a visual and tactile sweep, running his hands under the small dining table, the bottoms of both chairs, the underside of the bed, and any other surface that seemed a likely spot to affix a listening device. When he was reasonably satisfied that he wasn't being clandestinely observed, he unpacked his things and put them neatly away. The room was nice in a bland sort of way, earth tone décor as the Bajorans seemed to favor. He was particularly pleased to discover a balcony beyond a long sweep of curtains against the wall opposite the door. With the overcast, the light wasn't too bright to cast the curtains wide and open the transparent aluminum door to let in some fresh air.  
  
Fishing a ripe moba fruit from the basket, Garak bit into it and took a seat on the too soft bed to fish through the packet. In addition to an itinerary, he found a history booklet, various maps, and at the very bottom of the envelope, a magnetic name tag. He set aside the moba fruit so that he could shake it out into his hand. “Elim Garak, Former Cardassian Oppressor,” he read aloud. His jaw tightened. _Of course,_ he thought. _Exactly what I thought this would be. A farce. A sham._ He resisted the urge to fling the offensive bit of metal against the wall. The sound of fat, large raindrops striking his balcony provided much needed distraction.  
  
Uncaring of his clothing, he stepped outside and settled both hands to the balcony rail, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Within moments, the sprinkle became one of the downpours that region of Bajor was known for. He let it pelt him and soak him to the skin, making no effort to retreat until he finally began to shiver. The rain may have been warm by Bajoran standards. It still felt cold to a son of Cardassia's heat. Reluctantly, he retreated indoors, had the hotel computer shut the door, and squelched across his carpet to the refresher.  
  
He stripped quickly from the sodden clothing and left it piled on the tile floor, ran a bath as hot as he could stand it, and sank into the steamy water, submerging completely. He didn't come up for breath for quite some time, and when he did, he stayed low in the tub and soaked for a while, his shivering quick to subside. He wondered what the reaction would be if he simply refused to attend the reception. The message had already been sent loud and clear as to what they thought of him. It would fit with the image, after all, arrogant, unrepentant, xenophobic and intolerant. Incarceration had done this to him, convinced him to ignore his better instincts and waste his time.  
  
Grumbling under his breath, he triggered the drain with a toe and climbed to his feet. The heat was beginning to leech from the tub. No, no matter how attractive the thought of snubbing his ungracious hosts might be, he committed to this. He would see it through, because one thing he wouldn't tolerate was to be thought a coward. After toweling himself, he wrung his wet clothes in the tub and retrieved hangers to let them air dry as much as possible in the humid air.  
  
He dressed in the black clothing with silver accents he intended to wear to the reception and ceremony, carefully combed his hair into place, and returned to the moba fruit he had set aside earlier to finish it off. The rain continued to pelt, reducing visibility outside to the next building over. He wondered idly if it was also a hotel or something else. He had never spent much time in Jalanda City during the occupation, and of course few of the buildings were put to the same use then as they were now.  
  
The downpour nixed any ideas he had entertained of getting out and exploring before he would be obligated to the conference. Too many people were careless in rain. The last thing he wanted was a hospital visit on top of everything else. He supposed that he could explore the hotel, for all the good it would do him. He didn't think it would be that different from most hotels. There might be a restaurant, a few places for shopping, nothing he couldn't determine from using the personal console.  
  
Remembering the bag, he leaned to draw it closer and pushed aside sweet smelling packing grass to find a jar of jam, a decorative spoon, and a small sack of specialty bread flour. _Not bad as far as hospitality gifts go,_ he thought. He had certainly received worse in his life, like that jar of pickled taspar eggs at a conference in Lakat.  
  
His door chimed low and pleasant. “Who is it?” he asked, instantly on edge again.  
  
“Odo,” came the gravely response.  
  
“Enter,” he said, relaxing once more.  
  
The constable hesitated before crossing the threshold. “I...wanted to talk to you before the conference,” he said without the preamble of small talk.  
  
Raising an eye ridge, Garak gestured to one of the chairs at the small table near the balcony door. “I'm at your disposal,” he said. “You saved me the futility of wandering the halls in search of something to do.”  
  
Odo nodded distractedly and took a seat, letting his gaze track toward the rain. “Have you studied the itinerary?” he asked, slow to look back at Garak.  
  
Taking his seat across from him, Garak shook his head. “I barely gave it a glance.” He leaned to his bed and plucked the offensive tag from the outer cover, tossing it to the table top so that it slid and landed in front of his companion. “I was sidetracked.”  
  
Odo picked it up and turned it in his long fingers to read. He let out a soft snort and raised deep set blue eyes to Garak's. “If it's any consolation, mine says, 'Former Overseer of Terok Nor'. I think they're just trying to be specific.”  
  
“I think you should leave the lying to me,” Garak said a bit more shortly than he intended and held his hand out for the tag. “You're not very good at it.”  
  
Odo handed it over and had the decency to look slightly chastised. “You and I are scheduled for a debate tomorrow morning,” he said abruptly.  
  
“Is that what they're calling it?” he asked, flicking the tag back onto the bed.  
  
“I'm going to tell what I observed,” Odo continued evenly. “I don't want you taking anything I say...personally. I have no idea what you did during the occupation, and I'm really not interested in finding out. However, I'm not going to lie or...understate about your fellow Cardassians. I respect you enough that I wanted to give you fair warning.”  
  
Garak shook his head and made an impatient gesture. “Do you think me as fragile and sensitive as all that? If so you haven't been paying attention all these years. If it's a debate they want, it's a debate they'll have. I'm not foolish enough to take any such thing personally. I know what happened here. I know my people better than you or any of these people do. Say what you must, and expect the same from me.”  
  
“You seem sensitive about the name tag,” Odo pointed out.  
  
“It's offensive,” Garak snapped. “They claimed they wanted to take an unbiased look at the occupation, yet everything associated with this...farce...has been biased from the start, from the registration form to this. I assure you, no one here is any the wiser about my activities during the occupation than you are. They simply presume to call me an oppressor without any notion of what it is I may have done.”  
  
“You were here,” Odo said, frowning. “You honestly can't see how that would be perceived as oppressive? Even if you did nothing more than hem trousers on Terok Nor—something I don't believe, by the way—you were providing a service to those who did oppress. Who did harm, enslave, torture, and kill. Your very presence was a violation of their sovereignty.”  
  
“They invited us. They welcomed us with open arms. They partook of our technological advantages; they used us to secure their borders. They relied on us in crisis after crisis when we hardly had the resources to spare. Need I remind you that it was their own governing council that turned over home rule, their own backwards caste system that made that possible? Hardly a violation,” Garak countered.  
  
Odo held up a hand. “Let's save this for the debate,” he said. “I don't feel like arguing with you. I'm aware of the claims on both sides. I won't argue that what you say doesn't have some merit insofar as explaining the position your government took.”  
  
“Ever the impartial observer,” the Cardassian said a bit snidely.  
  
Odo stood and closed the short distance to the balcony door, facing away from Garak and looking out. “That was uncalled for,” he said, his voice tense. “I'm not attacking you, Garak.”  
  
That was interesting. He obviously struck a nerve, but in what way? He debated internally whether to press the issue or let it drop. The way Odo had treated him during his incarceration factored heavily in his decision. He was certainly capable of gratitude when it was warranted. “I'm sorry,” he said instead of attempting more provocation. “I'm...on edge. You can hardly blame me, the lone voice championing an unpopular viewpoint to enough people to overwhelm me easily should they choose.”  
  
Odo glanced at him over his shoulder. “Captain Sisko would never stand for that, and neither would I. If it comes to that, I'll have you beamed directly back to the shuttle at the port. Whatever concerns you have, your fear for your safety is unwarranted.”  
  
“I'm sure you thought the same thing at the monastery,” he said without recrimination.  
  
He sighed. “You're right. I did. I'll be on my highest alert if it makes you feel better. There's nothing else I can do. I'm not in charge of the security here.”  
  
Garak could almost hear the continuation of that point, _and I'm not a changeling anymore._ He knew it weighed on the man even now. He hadn't thought his hatred of the Dominion could grow any stronger, but in seeing the slight shift in the way Odo held himself, something diminished and a little defeated, it did. He suddenly felt the beginnings of a headache. _Just what I need,_ he thought direly. “No offense, but the only thing that's going to make me feel better is getting this over with. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like some time to review the itinerary and gather my thoughts.”  
  
Odo turned to study him, nodded, and circled the bed on his way to the door. “I'll come by and make sure you're awake on my way down,” he said.  
  
Sometimes he was too observant for Garak's liking, and yet, for all of that, he was a decent friend. “Thank you,” he said simply, grateful that Odo hadn't gone so far as to inquire about the pain. Once he was alone, he closed his curtains, turned off the lights, and took a single pill before lying atop the bed clothes. If he was very lucky, he had managed to catch it in time to prevent a full blown migraine. He had a feeling he would need to be at the pinnacle of his game for the coming ordeal. It promised to be a long two days ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> The story is an in-between story, taking place after “Let He Who is Without Sin...” and before “Things Past.” It's the beginning of some of the canon departures I've mentioned, minor so far, that will build over time throughout the rest of the series. Some of the Jem'Hadar dialogue comes from “In Purgatory's Shadow.” Chronology between Julian's part of the story and Garak's isn't exact. I wrote it for flow, not precision of the lining up of events while they're apart.


End file.
